We The Chosen One
by peytonhale
Summary: Anakin Skywalker is the host of a DID system. He and the other alters must navigate trauma and the unfeeling ways of the Jedi, a forbidden marriage, and the weight of an unwanted destiny placed on their shoulders.
1. In Sickness, In Health

**! DISCLAIMER:** i. I am not part of a DID system. Though I'll make every effort to accurately portray the disorder, I will not pretend to have first-hand experience. The bulk of my understanding comes from MultiplicityAndMe and The Entropy System on YouTube, along with other sources. ii. The in-universe existence of the Force will influence how the disorder manifests here. Therefore, certain elements will be purely fictitious compared to real-world cases.

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) is as fascinating as it is heartbreaking so please do your own research and always be considerate to survivors.

* * *

He couldn't do this. Could he do this? No, he couldn't. He shouldn't. He hadn't told her. It wasn't right. Well, she sort of already knew... But that wasn't the same as actually knowing, having it all laid out in words. He should tell her first. It was only fair. He would tell her. He would tell her and she would...

She would leave him.

What else would she do?

Anakin balled up the fabric of his robes in a fist - his new fist, the metal one - and tried to breathe through his nerves. Nausea was steadily creeping in. He stepped outside for some air and didn't realize till he got there that this, this veranda overlooking the lake, was where the ceremony would take place. It didn't really help calm his nerves. Still, the view was amazing so he stared at it dutifully, not really taking it in. The lone sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon. Soon, the lake would glisten with golds and pinks and the last day of his life so far would be over. He supposed, in some other part of his brain that still had a sense of humor, that this was how any normal man might feel on his wedding day.

He had to tell her. It would be wrong not to, he knew that. But that didn't make it any less hard; he'd been keeping this secret his whole life.

The palm that was still made of flesh was getting all clammy. His throat was painfully dry. The spot right between his eyebrows started to get fuzzy and ache.

_No, not now,_ he pushed them back. _Not today. Please._

If he was going to do this, it had to be _him_ doing it. Whether the "it" in question was telling her or marrying her - hopefully both - he wasn't sure yet.

In his defense, it wasn't like he'd had much time to plan! They'd only agreed to this a few days ago. A little over a month ago, they weren't even in each other's spheres. Only through a bizarre set of circumstances had they been brought back together and he didn't want to feel _grateful_ that people kept trying to kill her. He was just dumbfounded still that the universe had put this in front of him. It wasn't normally that kind. And he... A sharp jolt ripped through his heart. He didn't want to lose her again. He shook his head and wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He'd loved her for little over a month and ten years. He still wasn't entirely convinced she loved him back. And one voice in particular in his head kept trying to point out the statistical likelihood this endeavor would fail.

Enough. Time was running out. Anakin called on all the training that prepared him for battle and went to see her. His bride...

Oh, Force. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful but today especially and he didn't know if that was because of her dress or because of what this day could mean but she was pure loveliness and he didn't even know if he could express that right, let alone the rest of it. He was better with numbers, damn it. And machinery. Putting parts together that obviously fit together and could make something work. He could fix things with cold metal and math. The prosthetic he'd built and attached to himself just yesterday was proof enough of that. Women and words were not his forte.

"Anakin," she was surprised to see him but then she smiled at him and _oh..._ His insides got all fluttery and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

_Don't blush, you idiot,_ he thought as his cheeks heated up.

"Padmé," he began. Then stalled. Then lost his nerve. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," she dipped her chin. Her modesty had grown alongside her beauty since they first met. Of the two of them, Anakin was the more vain and he wished he hadn't realized that now of all times. "What are you-"

"I need to talk to-"

They both laughed then went quiet. Anakin took a seat and motioned for her to sit beside him. She obliged.

"There's something I need to tell you."

"Alright," was all she said.

As irrational as it was, Anakin was sort of hoping she'd give him more to bounce off than that. He honestly didn't know how to begin.

With the stress, his head was clouding quite badly. He rubbed his hands together as he'd sometimes done before facing the Council. This time, he found the intricate texture of the metalwork did a great deal to keep him present. He focused on it. It was cool where the rest of him was feverish. He found his resolve.

"Do you remember when I explained how the Force guides me? And then, in a sort of similar way to that, there are these voices... Like I can talk to myself and see things from different angles all at once?"

Padmé nodded and waited.

"Well, it's more than that... I have _people_ in my head. Other people."

_And you'll be marrying all of us. Technically. If you don't run away, please don't run away._

"I don't understand," she said with a kind if somewhat bewildered smile.

"OK, so imagine a group of people living in a house. Only the house is just a body. But each of them is still their own person with a name and hobbies and secrets. That's what it's like in my head."

Padmé didn't respond, she seemed to be processing his words. And he should probably give her time to do that but he kept on rambling.

"I don't know why my brain is like this. I don't think there's anything physically wrong. I mean, I've been this way forever so if I were having a stroke or something I'd be dead by now, right?"

He gave a nervous little laugh. Padmé didn't laugh. He was doing this wrong.

"Anyway. The point is, it's always been like this and I can't explain why."

The room was deafeningly quiet when he ran out of words all at once. If he'd actually bothered to plan this conversation, he wouldn't have planned it to go like this.

_Try to focus on the things you can explain,_ a warm voice encouraged him. Confidence flooded his system and he sat up a little straighter. For just a moment, he smiled.

"I know I'm not dangerous. You might be thinking that. I'm not crazy, I mean, _I'm_ not crazy and none of the others are. We just happen to share a body. We didn't ask for this. And I know I'm in control most of the time so it feels like mine. The others, when it's their turn, they don't always feel comfortable. But they're not dangerous."

"Their turn?"

"Out here. It's like... Like I go to sleep and someone else takes over and does things and I don't remember who they spoke to or what they did."

"If you don't remember them, how do you know them?"

Oh, boy. There's a question and a half.

"I can... I know what they look like. And sometimes we can hear each other really clearly. But it depends... It's hard to explain," he took a breath to steady himself because if he didn't explain this right, he would just make everything worse. "When we're on the inside, we can talk to each other. But whoever's out here, like I am right now, it can get... _everything_ gets confusing out here sometimes."

They fell into silence again and this time Anakin didn't try to fill it. Close though not quite touching, they sat in quiet contemplation of their new reality. He'd told someone. Huh... He noticed his mechno-hand was gripping too hard and the fingers on the other hand were turning purple. It took some concentration to operate the limb and let go. He wondered what she was thinking. He was fairly confident she wasn't afraid, he would've sensed that. He'd known fear reflected back at him from his opponents. He'd known it in the desert, at the slave market. In his peers, he'd seen it worst of all. She'd yet to insult him or assault him or run away. So this was going relatively well. He couldn't say how long it was before Padmé finally spoke.

"How many of you are there?"

"Four." What would that sound like to her? Was that a lot or a little? "Including me."

"Can I meet them?"

_No,_ a sudden growl emanated from further back in his mind.

"One at a time," Anakin agreed to her request and raised his eyes to hers at last. "When the excitement settles down."

He debated whether to reveal this next part. Was it really necessary? Would it just make things more confusing? It might lead her to think it was just him putting on an act. But wasn't honesty the point of this conversation?

"You've technically already met one of them," he said slowly, carefully. "He tends to come out when I get overwhelmed and he... I guess you could say, he fills in for me. Right after we talked about my feelings for you, when you rejected me, he took over for awhile. He wasn't trying to be deceitful, he just didn't want to cause you alarm. It's a shame, really. He's very well-meaning and he likes you. It's just he can never be himself because that would cause more problems for us."

Something in that last part made her tilt her head to one side. She regarded him with gentle scrutiny.

"Have you ever spoken to anyone about this before?"

"No," he scoffed before he could help it. She was being so patient, he didn't want her to think he was mocking her so he tried to rein it in. He dropped his gaze and tried to soften his tone before he continued, "not like this. Not since I was really little."

In his mind, there were flashes of other children chasing him and kicking him into the dirt but years of practice made it easy to brush those images aside.

"Master Yoda sort of understands. And Obi-Wan knows more than he lets on, I think. But no, I... I never outright told anyone."

When she put her hand over his, he realized he was trembling. She was so warm and so steady and if he had to put the words "everything will be OK" into a feeling, it was the feeling of being near her and no wonder they put her in charge of a planet and what was she doing here with him?

"Anakin."

He looked up at her.

"I love you."

Parts of him desperately wanted to argue. But that would be incredibly rude and besides, he knew it was true. If the universe had granted him the ability to harness the Force for any reason - Chosen One - shut up, not now - it was for this. It was so he could perceive the truth in her words.

"I love you," he said it back.

The silence that came over them now was different, comfortable. They gazed into each other and it almost floored him how he could feel so connected to another person through just their eyes. They must have looked like something from one of his mother's soap operas. He didn't mind. It didn't seem so silly anymore. Even this most basic display of affection, attachment, was forbidden. He didn't worry about that, either. Right now, he was simply looking at her and had never felt so content in all his life. He wanted to lean over and kiss her because it might be the last chance he'd get to do that. It took a tremendous effort to hold himself back.

"I'll understand if you don't want to go through with this."

The look she gave him seemed almost perplexed. As if she hadn't realized these two topics were relevant to one another.

"It's not ideal," he continued. "I doubt it's what you wanted in a husband. So, before you commit to anything, I thought you should know. In case you... If you changed..."

She must have got the idea. He shouldn't have to say it.

"If this were a reason for us not to get married today, it still wouldn't be in the top three," she said with a playful smile, apparently trying to lighten the mood.

Anakin smiled with her and tried to figure out what the third thing was on her list. He was pretty confident he knew the first two. And then he had about five other reasons of his own but they were all things she might not have thought of or realized were a problem. They'd been running through his mind since daybreak and by noon, he'd almost talked himself into calling this off. But the simple truth was, he had one reason to marry her and it outweighed everything else. So he didn't want to dwell on this topic.

"I just meant it's important that you understand this about me. What we have will only ever be between us but you'll still have to accept the others because," he let out a genuine laugh. "They're not going away. As much as I sometimes wish it. You can't have just me and not the rest. It's sort of an all or nothing thing."

Padmé laughed at him softly.

"Yeah, it's called marriage."


	2. Hidden Places

"Out with it, then."

Anakin turned his head as if he'd been caught off-guard which admittedly, happened a little too often for a future-Jedi. His master stood watch beside him in the training room of the Temple. He'd been giving instruction, no doubt. But Anakin had quite forgotten he was there. A new set of battle droids - salvaged and repurposed from Geonosis - rolled in to replace their fallen comrades and the exercise began anew.

"What?" he feigned innocence and raised his weapon.

"Whatever's put you in such a fine mood," Obi-Wan elaborated.

The lead droid fired. Anakin turned his lightsaber just so and the bolt ricocheted toward another of the droids. The damage was minimal. At Obi-Wan's insistence, they were running the intermediate program with blasters set to stun, not kill. It was proving less than challenging.

"What makes you think I am?"

"That absurd grin on your face."

_I'm grinning?_

Without meaning to, Anakin raised a hand to his face to check - oh, yes. There it was. A grin stretching from ear to ear. The discovery only made him laugh. This wasn't the first time in the past few days he'd caught himself smiling. Though, it was the first time getting caught by someone else. With some effort, he relaxed his features. With ease, he blocked another attacked.

What could he say? Marriage agreed with him. (And he certainly couldn't say that.)

"I was just thinking of joining you in battle again soon, Master," Anakin let his impatience bleed into his tone. It was true he wasn't thrilled being confined to the Temple while the first stage of the Clone War unfolded elsewhere. He was trained for battle. The sidelines didn't suit him. But circumstances being what they were, he would prolong his recuperation as long as possible.

"Quite," Obi-Wan spoke with his signature dry tone. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad. I thought to find you in less jubilant spirits after what happened."

Anakin raised an eyebrow in question to his master, whose response was merely a pointed glance at his prosthetic.

"Oh, that!" He looked down at his new hand, the metal hand with the fingers that could move inhumanly fast and never tire. He felt his grin returning. "I rather like it. It's proving... useful."

Obi-Wan's brow creased. The droids fired in unison and with that one hand, Anakin spun the hilt of his lightsaber every which way it was needed to deflect the bolts. He heard one of the droids collapse.

"See?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. His typical response to his padawan's antics.

"In any case, I've persuaded the Council to accept this as your Trial of the Flesh. And I've no doubt the war will provide the rest."

Anakin, going on the offensive, made quick work of the remaining droids as he took in the news.

So, he was a step closer to becoming a Knight. It almost felt like cheating. He'd lost his arm through recklessness, not valor. The thought of Dooku maiming him inspired an emptiness that made him suspect the memory, the exact experience, was buried somewhere and waiting to creep up on him later. That would suck. Still, it'd be worth it if it helped him become a real Jedi. And in a way, it was a blessing for those sharing the body.

Of the four of them, there was only one left now who was both organic and whole. And she hated it out here anyway. For the others, if anything, this helped; looking more on the outside like how they saw themselves on the inside.

The association between mind and body had always been tenuous. Another obstacle to the task of existing. He had the easiest time of it. He looked and aged as the body did and for whatever reason was in control the most. But he tried not to think of it as _his_ because he knew what that was like when the body was property, when it belonged to someone else. He wouldn't inflict that on the others. It was better, he found, to view them as a whole; their body and collective minds. He called it _the_ _machine_.

He took comfort in that idea. Most days, anyway. Machines could be fixed. He was good at fixing them. And all the parts, no matter how different their functions, were _needed_ for the machine to run. All equal. A team. It made him feel like they were... a family, maybe. Whatever one of those felt like. So yes, most days it was a comforting thought.

Other days, he felt like an object. Which was to say, he didn't feel anything. On those days, he could only watch the space around him blur and endure the haze that made him question if he was awake. Days - only they weren't days because time wasn't passing - when the world became so distant, he couldn't even touch the Force. And in his confusion, he'd lose himself. He would look down at this thing, this flesh and bone prison that didn't belong to him, and had to swallow the urge to scream.

So no, the arm didn't bother him as much as Obi-Wan might think.

Oh, he was talking!

"...once the system is liberated, I will return. It should not take more than a few weeks," Obi-Wan apparently continued.

"I'm sorry I can't accompany you, Master," worked as a response.

As Anakin coasted through the end of the discussion, he picked up most of the details he missed. Outlying star system under siege. Control of a hyperspace lane at stake. Nothing that would end the war before it truly started, so he wasn't missing too much. Obi-Wan left him with instructions of what exercises to complete while he was gone. It would be awhile before Anakin could join his master in the war. It wasn't just his skill with a lightsaber he had to relearn. After the loss of living tissue, the greater challenge would be channeling the Force through his new limb. It would take practice.

Done with training for the day, Anakin let Obi-Wan lead him back to their quarters and prepared for what would likely be a tiring evening in more ways than one.

Although he knew he shouldn't, he tried to avoid the topic of the machine as much as possible. Padmé, however, had new questions by the hour. Some were expected and some were easy to answer because the answer was simply, "no, it's not like that," but others were difficult because he honestly didn't know. The conversation always seemed to end abruptly with her blushing and looking down at her feet.

"Sorry," she would say. "I've just never come across anything like this before."

Neither had he. And as much as he would respond, "it's alright, you can ask me anything," it did get uncomfortable under her fascinated stare. Like he was being studied.

Alone in his room, Anakin settled down to meditate. It helped bring his mind back to the present. He didn't struggle on this occasion to connect with the Force and soon he felt the familiar surge. Light and warmth coursed through his entire being; every cell hummed with energy. The sensation came to an abrupt end at the right elbow and he had to consciously push the energy through the metal. The voices in his head grew distinctly clearer, as though a radio were tuned to a precise frequency at last. He signaled Threepio that it was time and the shields went up, blocking out the sounds.

Turning his senses to his surroundings, he focused on the light particles and sound waves around him. He pushed at them, lightly at first. And he met with only slight resistance. Without much effort, he coaxed them into curving around him so that to any onlookers, he vanished.

The Force cloak was one practice in which Anakin considered himself, sincerely, a master. It was an apparently rare talent but it came to him more naturally than any other technique the Jedi ever taught him.

Finally, the time came to slip away. He took the usual escape route as mapped over years of sneaking out. Back then, all that awaited him outside the Temple was whatever seedy adventure he could find in the lower levels of the city. Now, as he walked unseen and unheard among the citizens, he had to stifle a laugh. His _wife_ was waiting for him. That ludicrous grin pulled at his lips again. Riding the turbolift to her apartment - whoa, when'd he get here? - he flipped the word over and over in his mind. Wife. It didn't sound real. Nothing about this felt real but not in the way that plagued him before. This was heart-soaring, stupid-grin-on-his-face unreal. This was - as he now decided to call to it - the good unreal.

Doors opened. Steps were taken. The instant he saw her, she saw him. His cloak fell away without him thinking about it. She ran to him. He was holding her... _finally._

He tried to be patient. He really, really did. And she was trying, too. There was dinner and there was talking and there were details of the day they had which seemed important to say but didn't sound important at all. They skipped dinner. They didn't care. And maybe because they knew they didn't have much time, it made the fumbling, stumbling race to her bedroom all the more desperate.

_Breathe,_ he told himself. _Take it slow._

Sex - or rather, the relationships that lead to sex - was forbidden to the Jedi and he may have figured out why. He was eager, of course, and made efforts to please her. Oh, and prove to her she hadn't made a mistake. No pressure. And with his emotions and attention so focused on another being, the intensity of the connection overwhelmed him. The feelings he provoked in her came back on him and swirled into a maelstrom with his own. Which was... in its own way... _amazing._ But he almost passed out the first time.

Now, he was figuring out how to let her in slowly. Roaving hands and lips and clothes coming off tugged at his senses, on threads running between them. _Breathe._ Only once he was steady did he begin to open himself to it. All the while growing vulnerable. And yet, unafraid. She poured into him and he let her. How could he refuse when he was so privileged to be invited into her? Gradually, their kisses and connection grew more intense. Until at last, the bond shuddered through his flesh and his defenses. He surrendered to her, feeling more human with every touch. He was a person and he was loved. And when he finally unraveled, it was in the safety of her, to the sound of her calling his name.

In the afterglow, they caught their breath. Tangled in the mess of each other, they simply lay there in a stupor, too happy and heavy to move. Eventually, they found their voices. At last, they found an interest in talking about their lives outside this place and how much they'd rather stay here, in this sanctuary that was her bed, until something seemed to dawn on her.

"Can they... see us?" she asked with almost-concealed alarm as she searched the depths of his eyes.

"They have manners, they look away."

Her eyes widened, mortified, and he had to laugh.

"I'm kidding. I'm sorry," he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb back and forth to soothe her. "They can't see us. I spoke with Threepio about it, he puts up shields for us."

"Shields?"

"If I reach back now, it's like I hit a wall. And on the inside it's..." This was going to open up more questions. "We have holoprojectors that display what's going on out here. Threepio can encrypt the frequency."

Padmé blinked a few times before she frowned.

"Holoprojectors? In your head?"

"It's a vivid place," Anakin began nervously. "It's detailed. I guess because we need somewhere to go? We don't just vanish when we're not out here so, I assume that's why."

In all their discussions so far, they'd yet to cross the line that marked the limit for Padmé. The unacceptable extreme. Anakin was still waiting for that moment to arrive and dreading it. Still, it was no use being vague. Least of all with the topic of the inside.

"I remember, it used to be just a house. Just the inside of this really tiny house. With pretty much nothing in it," he laughed. "At the time, it seemed impressive. I felt safe there. But then..."

He turned on his side to face her and leaned in as if about to share a tantalizing secret.

"The prettiest girl in the galaxy showed up in a busted starship and took me away to her world."

Padmé smirked and delivered a playful jab to his shoulder.

"The next time I went inside after that, I was... not prepared. It was a city! I don't know how it changed but it's a city now and we each have our own houses and it kind of looks like Theed but less built-up, there's more greenery. You've got the palace and the courtyard in the middle and some roads but the ground is mostly organic. And then on all sides, it's surrounded by water. It's like a floating city."

He noticed he was babbling but he still smiled picturing it. If he'd had a choice, that's how he'd want the inside to look.

With more than a little fondness, he recalled their recent time together in hiding on Naboo. Out on the meadow, he'd confessed to her how in awe he'd been seeing it for the first time ten years before.

"Your world is covered in _grass,_" he'd marveled. "It grows everywhere. Except on the lakes, obviously, and excuse me, _lakes?_ I'd never heard of a lake! First time I saw a lake, I could've fainted."

She'd given him the same look as Master Qui-Gon, like it had never dawned on her what a wonder it all was.

And so, he went on explaining how the world inside his head worked. He told her about his home and his work - no, not a Jedi - no, don't know why - and all the other people who were not parts, so he guessed were just figments of imagination. And then had to explain how he could tell the difference. He told her how he could visit his other parts and talk face-to-face. He outlined how the holoprojectors worked. How time and technology worked. Not once did she interrupt him or balk at his account and inevitably, he grew uneasy leading a conversation about himself. It felt wrong.

"So, when you go there, does it feel like you're dreaming?" Padmé asked after a long while of listening.

"No, it feels as real as out here."

Anakin watched as a strange expression came over her before she cast her eyes down.

"What?"

Padmé shook her head.

"I suppose I never thought about it but if I picture the inside of my mind... It's just dark. I have nothing like that," her tone bordered on wistful, jealous.

"You don't _need _that," he jumped in. "That's a good thing."

She didn't respond to that. She seemed to just accept it and focused instead on tracing patterns along his chest. The disharmony between their points of view was something she could ignore. He, however, was so in tune with her each time after they were together that his senses frayed. He wanted to lighten the mood.

"We don't have waterfalls, though."

"No?" she giggled.

"No, they still scare me."

They laughed together and she snuggled closer into his arms.


	3. The Senator

There were a thousand people above her and a thousand more below. Each one had something of value to say. The trouble was, they all wanted to speak first.

The Galactic Senate was a diverse congregation of dignitaries representing star systems all across known space. Each brought with them the unique temperament and priorities of their homeworld. Each day, they gathered here to serve the interests of millions of inhabited planets. Today, like many recent days, it was a shouting match. One could either marvel or cry to see so many cultures joined in such a fractured state. It was here this elected few were meant to solve the problems of the galaxy, not create more.

Padmé waited in silence. She listened as best she could to each individual voice. There hadn't been a full-scale war since the formation of the Republic; an event now lost to living memory. No one here was certain how to handle the conflict and it seemed their greatest concern was to prove otherwise. They spoke over each other to urge different courses of action. All of which involved violence or revolved around greed. She took their motions and played them out in her mind. How Senator Taa's call for fund reallocations would affect welfare programs in the Mid Rim. The impact a military installation would have on the Kashyyyk ecosystem, as proposed by the Security Council. And all the while, she listened out for clues of who may yet change sides. Only once they began repeating themselves did she choose to speak.

"My fellow senators," she began. "It appears we have forgotten ourselves. And forgotten our most crucial objective. The search for peace. We cannot abandon-"

"You talk of peace?" a representative of the Gotal loyalists was outraged. And he was not alone. "Perhaps it escaped your notice but we are, in fact, at war!"

Padmé raised her voice over shouted agreements.

"I met with Count Dooku to negotiate the release of General Kenobi. An unlawful prisoner. He insisted I pledge Naboo's allegiance to his cause. When I refused, two innocent individuals, along with myself, were sentenced to die. Do not doubt my understanding of this conflict. The Count deals in threats, bribery, and violence. And should be held accountable in the courts."

More likely, at the end of a lightsaber. The Senate knew Dooku as the Jedi Master he was, not the Sith Lord he'd become. The Council had deemed it appropriate to withhold that information, for morale's sake.

"But there are those who can still be reasoned with. Systems that declared their independence not for power but for the welfare of their people. Systems that can be offered the resources and reason they need to return. If they can be swayed, we will greatly diminish Dooku's capacity to wage this war at all."

The cacophony grew as proponents of opposing views vied to call each other _traitor_.

"The Separatist leaders already made it clear they won't respond to negotiation. Only to a show of force."

"If not to bring the Separatists back into the fold, what is our objective in this war? To eradicate them? Are those the principles by which we live now? We may not always share the same views. But this Republic was built on the willingness to listen," Padmé paused to let the words sink in. "War may be necessary. But war means suffering for millions of people. Suffering that will persist so long as we remain obstinate. For the sake of those we represent, we must not abandon the search for a diplomatic resolution."

The few cheers that answered her were mingled with outright dissent and slow, begrudging applause. Amid the grumbles, Padmé caught the word _idealist_ thrown out like an insult. It was not the first time.

* * *

The walk back to her office was a miserable one but she kept her head high and shoulders down. The hallways were bustling with officials as they filed out of the Senate arena and she wasn't about to show signs of defeat. Before she could commit her thoughts to the next item on today's agenda, there came a distraction. As usual.

"Senator Amidala," a voice came from behind her.

Padmé turned to see the familiar bearded face of a man wearing Jedi robes. He stood in the middle of the corridor as if having appeared out of thin air. Which, for a Jedi, wouldn't be too hard to believe.

"Obi-Wan," Padmé relaxed at the sight of him, having braced herself to face some smug bureaucrat, and the two exchanged smiles.

"Hello, Padmé," he spoke again, apparently accepting there was no need to stand on ceremony. "I caught the tail end of your speech. It was rather good, at least to my ears. I was glad to hear such an impassioned call for peace efforts."

She gave a short but genuine laugh.

"Well, I'm glad someone was listening."

"I enjoyed it."

Padmé kept her expression neutral and in doing so, the question was clear.

"Well, perhaps _enjoy_ is too strong a word. As much as I ever enjoy politics. I appreciated it."

She smiled at him again. As far as she knew, Obi-Wan was the model Jedi. Though, she really only knew one other to compare. He was reserved, collected perhaps to a fault. But she'd seen the fierceness with which he fought to liberate others, with no thought of reward. A true guardian of peace and justice. She felt honored to call him a friend.

"So what you brings you to our political hub?"

"I wanted to see how you were after all that unpleasantness on Geonosis."

Ah, that. Padmé stilled her hand as it itched to touch her back. She'd been going back and forth on having the scars removed. The sight of them was still rather gruesome. And yet each time she twisted her neck to view them in the mirror, she felt a peculiar surge of pride. Her first war wounds; evidence of her efforts on the front line. It was, to some extent, the sort of battle she'd rather face than the one she'd just lost.

"I'm perfectly well. Thank you for your concern," she said warmly.

Obi-Wan accepted that and dropped his gaze. He looked a little... awkward. As much as a Jedi could ever appear awkward.

"Walk with me?" she offered.

Again, he smiled then stepped forward. Padmé positioned herself beside him and matched his stride. He set a casual pace as he escorted her through the halls. Whatever he really came here to say, moving might help dislodge it from his brain.

He told her about his upcoming mission to the Eriadu system. She knew well the details of the siege and the potential ramifications; it had been argued over at length less than an hour ago. The Separatists' strategy was clear: divide Republic territory and cut off access to resources and troops. The Hydian Way and Rimma Trade Route hyperlanes crossed at Eriadu. Failure meant isolation of Republic systems from over half their forces. She truly wished him success.

"I was hoping to ask a favor of you," he broached the subject somewhat sheepishly. "If it's not too much of an imposition."

"What do you need?" Padmé made herself sound agreeable without actually agreeing to anything yet. A classic trick of the trade.

"It's about Anakin."

Alarm bells blared in her head while she kept her face blank. He didn't know; no one could possibly know. And if Anakin told Obi-Wan, he would've told her first. _W__ait,_ she told herself. _He asked for a favor, not a confession. __See where this goes._

"I'd prefer to take him with me to Eriadu. Or at least stay with him throughout his recuperation. The circumstances are rather unfortunate."

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. And so, Padmé did the same.

"Keep an eye on him for me? I'd feel better going on this mission knowing I haven't simply abandoned him. It would only be for a short time."

"Keep an eye on him?"

"Look out for him," he rephrased. "As a friend. You wouldn't be held responsible, of course. He's been known to go looking for trouble when left to his own devices. I'm hoping having someone near will keep him focused on training until I return. Only if you don't mind."

Of course, she didn't mind but Obi-Wan couldn't know that. Was there no one else he thought to ask? For a month on Naboo, Anakin never once brought up the name of another padawan. But then, they weren't the only people he'd failed to mention.

She played the part of nonchalant yet slightly inconvenienced and agreed. Still, he fixed her with a skeptical look, as though fishing for something more.

"You're free to decline, of course." He'd gotten what he asked for and now was backtracking. That could only mean finding someone to "look out for" Anakin wasn't his true concern. "If the two of you no longer get along as before."

"What makes you said that?"

Obi-Wan's gaze bore into her as he persisted in his efforts to read her. Or perhaps she was just imagining it.

"He hasn't spoken of you much since your return."

"That can hardly be viewed as alarming," she reassured him, careful to conceal the wound. She knew the reason for Anakin's silence but she didn't enjoy hearing about it. "I'm sure he's just focusing on his recovery."

"Yes, well... Perhaps you might encourage that better than I can. The physical aspects of his recovery are progressing remarkably well. That's not what troubles me. It's the emotional element. Anakin's always been prone to outbursts and it seems the longer he buries something, the worse it gets. I found his attitude on the subject disconcerting. Almost as though he refuses to acknowledge what happened to him. I'm not sure he's handling it as he should."

Padmé held her tongue on her preferred response of, _he's handling it perfectly well in his own way_ and opted instead to say, "I'll be sure to check in with him about it. Delicately, of course."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan smiled sincerely.

It was becoming clear this conversation had nothing to do with her. And the crux of the matter was nothing more illicit than a Jedi seeking a watcher for his charge. A volatile boy, too emotionally immature to be left alone. In her mind, she replayed his words through this new lens. Then bit back the indignation as she returned his smile.

Anakin might not have mentioned other padawans but he had a _lot_ to say about the Jedi Masters. They were holding him back, they underestimated him, they didn't trust him. In all honesty, she'd thought him a little petulant. In fact, she told him so and he conceded, laughing at himself. He had a way of using humility as a shield. But she knew he meant what he said. She didn't want to believe such things about the Council but now... Seeing even Obi-Wan display such little faith in his apprentice was a bitter revelation. It was apparently lost on them that Anakin had spent the first decade of his life utterly alone. And somehow survived.

* * *

In her office, Padmé enjoyed comparative peace in which to work. When she didn't immediately question every word she wrote, that is. She was drafting a bill to ensure basic rights for the clone troopers. Their registration as Republic citizens was based solely on their recent enlistment to the military. Legally, they only existed to serve in the Grand Army. She'd need to garner more support before proposing the bill to the Senate but that was thankfully one of her talents. At least, she used to think so.

At this point in her career... life... well, same thing, really... Padmé hardly ever felt nervous. Not when it came to dealing with people. She felt nervous today.

She had no right to be, she knew that. This was happening at her request. After repeatedly telling Anakin of her desire to meet the others, he relented. One at a time, he still insisted which was bizarre to her. How could she possibly meet them all at once? She tried not to push too hard, though. There seemed to be an unspoken boundary he wasn't yet ready to cross. But here was the first step, at least. Her first in-law of sorts. Anakin said they would try to coordinate something called a _shift_ so Threepio could meet her at her apartment that evening.

The pride at attaining her goal wore off remarkably fast. It soon gave way to panic that took days to understand. Until finally, she thought she figured out the reason. This was an encounter unparalleled by any she'd undertaken before. She'd never knowingly introduced herself to someone who existed inside another person's mind. How could she be sure how to proceed, when this situation of theirs was entirely alien to her? And then there was the fact that Threepio was a droid... Something Padmé was still trying to wrap her head around.

Reading over what she'd written so far, she couldn't make sense of it. With a growl, she erased it. She was really starting to lose patience with herself; she was better than this. Banishing the worries from her mind, she started over. And for a time, she managed to outline a cohesive piece. But as the afternoon drew on, the dread coursing through her only grew colder. She felt it as through a nest of drochs was burrowing under her skin. She shuddered and misspelled the word _sentient_. Clearly, this wasn't getting her anywhere so she stopped. She clasped her hands together. She sat back in her chair. She took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes.

_What are you afraid of?_ she asked herself.

Padmé pondered that. It wasn't rational to be this perturbed. Nerves could be expected when meeting her husband's family or closest friend. But not to this degree. What was it about this scenario that rattled her? Was it simply its unfamiliar nature? Was that the answer?

_That I'll say the wrong thing._

_Anakin would've warned you of any specific topics to avoid. Otherwise, this is an introduction like any other. Just be courteous._

She could do that. Of course, if she _did_ give offense at any point, she would simply apologize. From everything she'd heard about Threepio, he was not an unreasonable man... droid. He didn't hold grudges. That was not the worst-case scenario.

_That he won't approve of me._

_You already know he does. Anakin told you, Threepio likes you. He's met you before. If he didn't approve you, wouldn't he refuse to meet with you now?_

She supposed that made sense. Everyone in the machine, as they called it, knew about her. If any of them presented an obstacle, would she and Anakin have even gotten married? The longer she considered it, the less plausible it was. It wasn't their opinions of her that seemed more likely to cause problems. Eventually, reluctantly, she confronted the ugly truth.

_I won't approve of him._

This time, no immediate response came.

She was left alone in her mind to stew in her fear. In the reality that she may not even like these people who would forever be part of their lives. What if she looked at Anakin tomorrow and saw someone she couldn't stand? What would happen to those moments where he'd catch her looking at him and smile, only to make her realize she'd been smiling first? Or when he found her feeling useless after a day like today and made her feel invincible? He didn't _do_ anything, he'd simply _be _Anakin and she was whole again. What if she lost that? She'd never felt so much for one person before. She never expected it and now she didn't want it to go away.

Finally, an answer presented itself.

_You tried everything not to fall in love with Anakin. He stole your heart anyway. It's unlikely you'll get it back as the result of one conversation._

It wasn't much. But it did something to calm her nerves, at least. It was generally a safe bet that running through these questions in her mind could help her reclaim control from irrational fear. Once again, she was grateful to the now-Chancellor for his mentorship. She hadn't needed to utilize such tricks in years but she never forgot them. Tricks that preserved her sanity throughout her tenure as Princess of Theed, a lifetime ago...

On that note, she noticed the time. Conceding that she'd get little else accomplished today, she reorganized her workload ready for the morning. After dismissing her staff, she headed home.

* * *

Her apartment felt cavernous as she waited for her guest to arrive. Had her footsteps always been so loud? Padmé sat herself down on the couch so she'd stop pacing. The rooms were annoyingly clean so what she claimed was tidying was really just fidgeting. Her hands started playing with her jewelry and she looked down at herself. She'd changed from her earlier ensemble but suddenly feared this was still too formal. _No, it's fine. _She held herself still and refused to even think. She was waiting. That was the task at hand. In the end, she decided to change but, of course, it was too late. Anakin - was that still Anakin? - finally appeared at her door.

"Hi," she greeted... someone.

"Hello," he said. "I am C-3PO. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Perhaps this was a mistake. His greeting was friendly enough but his eyes seemed to look straight through her, as though he weren't using them. His empty expression gave nothing away. Was it really a pleasure to meet her? Padmé couldn't help but study him for a moment, waiting for signs of life. They never came. She suppressed a shudder and smiled at him. And had to fight against the part of her brain insisting this was just Anakin pretending to be a robot.

"Hi. Threepio," she forced out the name and stepped aside to let him through. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me." He looked around the apartment as if he'd never been there before. Padmé had to remember it might seem that way to him. "You have a lovely home. Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Uh, no." There goes that conversation. "But thank you. It's not actually mine. These are official lodgings for senators and other representatives. It was assigned to me. To be honest, it doesn't really feel like home."

_Oh, good. Now we can both stand here feeling unwelcome. Well done, Padmé._

"Would you like to sit down?"

He agreed and she led him to the couch. He sat so upright and stiff, she knew he must not be comfortable. And she felt horrid because she was the one who asked him to be here! She had to think of something to lift the mood... Whatever she'd normally say to people was a mystery now. He seemed at a loss, too, and she remembered he'd never done this before, either. That helped a little.

What didn't help was the sight of her husband's face drained of all recognition. She could _feel_ it when Anakin looked at her. He was the only honest person she knew. A man so expressive, she could see right into his heart through his eyes. He was everything she was trained not to be. When he first fixed her with that stare, the one that stripped away the adornments of her office and left her exposed, she hadn't known how to handle it. Those eyes had unnerved her once with their intensity. Now its absence did the same.

And it didn't help that he was so maddeningly difficult to read.

"Anakin tells me we've met before," she offered. His name had the most bizarre sound, being referenced as though he wasn't sitting right in front of her. She ignored that.

"Indeed we have, my lady. I'm sorry I couldn't introduce myself at the time. I didn't mean to be rude."

"No, of course. It's alright."

"Truly, I meant no offense. Only, it's imperative we avoid drawing attention to ourselves."

"I understand," or she was trying to, anyway.

There was a lull once again and she searched for something to fill it.

"We've been threatened with expulsion from the Jedi Order in the past," Threepio blurted out.

"What?" Padmé was taken completely off-guard by the comment. It was so forthright and unexpected. Moreover, Anakin had never mentioned it. "What for?"

"Erratic behavior," he stated. "I'm sorry, this hardly qualifies as appropriate conversation."

"No, it's alright."

They were left in silence yet again - quite frankly, her thoughts were now preoccupied - until he seemed to remember something.

"I wanted to tell you, your work to oppose the Military Creation Act was quite remarkable. Though in vain, I still commend your efforts."

Padmé felt a smile creep across her face. He wasn't just saying that and she was genuinely touched.

"Thank you."

The next few minutes were slightly more relaxed though the conversation continued to stall. Eventually, she thought it best to move them to the kitchen where she'd had the droids - which she didn't mention - prepare appetizers.

Of course, then she was mortified.

"I'm so sorry... I didn't think to ask..."

Surely, he still _had_ to eat? Even if he didn't believe so.

"I assure you, I'm quite familiar with eating," the unreadable Threepio certainly knew how to read her, it seemed. "There were times when Master Anakin couldn't bring himself to perform such essential tasks, so I stepped in."

Padmé tried to absorb the significance of that but again she was thrown. If there was anything stranger than hearing herself refer to Anakin as if he weren't there, it was hearing it in Anakin's own voice.

Then again, that wasn't quite the case. Threepio spoke with a rather animated voice, far more than most droids she ever encountered, and in a higher pitch than Anakin. His accent was akin to Obi-Wan's and she wondered if that's where he got it. Once she really started listening, she could hear the candor in his voice. It was the most human thing about him. Focusing on that and not his comportment helped put her at ease.

She was lucky, then, that he hardly ever shut up.

All through dinner, he prattled on. First, about his palate. "I don't mind food per se but I'm not one for rich flavors." (She believed him. He ate the trimpian plain and avoided the sauce.) Then he moved onto his other duties out here. Then his despair over the war. Then his despair over anytime he had to work with Artoo, the droid she'd gifted Anakin. With anyone else, it might've grown irritating. But she appreciated the very real possibility that Threepio had never been free to speak this openly before.

The longer he talked, the more she listened out of genuine interest and not duty. More than once, he made her laugh. He hadn't meant to which would just get him flustered and make him reiterate his point.

Growing accustomed to Threepio's unique charm, Padmé felt her uneasiness slip away. They both insisted on clearing the dishes until they finally realized they could compromise and do it together. He asked about her day at the Senate and when she complained, he didn't coddle her. In fact, he was bluntly pessimistic. Persuading him otherwise helped rejuvenate her own hopes. There was a moment, however fleeting, where she looked at him and she didn't really see Anakin anymore. She saw him.

Padmé was no Jedi; she couldn't predict the future. Yet, she could sense she'd soon forget ever not knowing Threepio. Already she felt like she'd known him a tremendously long time. They moved back to the couch - he was still rigid in his seat and she started to accept that was just his posture, not his mood - and the pair settled into an evening of easy conversation.


	4. Human-Cyborg Relations

**Trigger Warning:** self-harm/internal assault.

If you'd like to read up until the incident, stop reading when Padmé asks to have breakfast. The next chapter has been posted along with this one so you can skip.

* * *

Threepio started the day in an unfamiliar location. He rose from a bed that surely didn't belong in the Jedi Temple. It was much too soft. He stood confused beside it and checked himself and the room for signs as to where he was. He found none.

_Not this again,_ he despaired. How many times had they come to be somewhere nameless and new? _Whichever one of you brought us here, you could've at least left a note._

At least this was an improvement on past occasions. There were no pirates here so far as he could tell. So, he supposed it was safe enough and opened the door. Before him was just a corridor but as he ventured further, the walls opened up and he found himself in a most spacious and grand apartment. Towering above the top level of Coruscant, judging by the view.

Oh, of course! This was the residence allocated to Senator Amidala. They'd been formally introduced the night before and it was about bloody time. Master Anakin had been fretting to no end over the situation. As if he would embarrass him in front of his lady. Really. Threepio was not some loose-wired halfwit like that foul-mouthed R2 unit.

It was still rather early. The rooms were lit only by the pale dawn. He endeavored to keep quiet as he found his way to the 'fresher to deal with the vessel's morning ablutions.

Quite frankly, Threepio found this whole business of marriage rather ludicrous. Not that he'd _ever_ say that to Mistress Padmé; she was exceptionally cordial for a human. The fault wasn't with her. No, the foolishness was entirely on their part. They were committed to the Jedi Order! Attachment was strictly forbidden. Had the word _forbidden_ suddenly lost all meaning? And suppose they were expelled, what would they do then? Where were they going to live? Really, what was Master Anakin thinking?

Well, it didn't do to dwell on it. They were in this mess now and they'd simply have to see it through to its logical conclusion. Which was divorce. And possibly vagrancy. Again, he wasn't about to _say_ that to anyone. He was protocol droid; a gentleman.

With the routine tasks completed, he went through to the main room to set up his most prized possession: his datapad.

It was a rather advanced model that Master Anakin was kind enough to purchase for him. It was equipped with multiple holoprojectors and after much tinkering, was specifically reprogrammed to handle various branches of both pure and applied mathematics. Come to think of it, it was his only possession. The one thing he didn't borrow or share. He kept it with him at all times.

He ran the programs and two projections lit up before him, taking the shape of screens and quite a bit of room. On the first would appear a series of tests. Nothing too strenuous. A syntemachion, perhaps. These were to be completed as quickly as possible. On the other screen, there was a complex problem he'd yet to solve. One that would require more time and attention.

_Now_ his day started.

Over six million languages were spoken throughout the galaxy but math was the language of the universe itself. As a droid, a being of logic, Threepio considered it his native tongue. He practiced it each morning (or, at least, every morning he got.)

The device registered when the beams of light were broken, allowing the holos to be manipulated and rearranged. He set a time limit and worked through the first challenge, drawing binary trees. As he progressed steadily through the tests, the sun rose over the skyline and flooded the apartment with warm orange light.

There was math in the light. There was math in everything. It made sense of wormholes, black holes, and faster-than-light travel. It was woven through the very fabric of space.

Much as he tried, Threepio couldn't grasp the concept of the Force. A mystical energy binding all the galaxy together and speaking its "will" to a select few? Preposterous. Math had no will to misinterpret, no self-proclaimed prophets. It spoke for itself, without prejudice, to explain the inner workings of all things. With math, a person of any species, any homeworld, any past, knew precisely where they stood.

Except, of course, when you erroneously decode a simple cryptarithmetic as he'd just done.

Only when Mistress Padmé emerged from her quarters did he realize how much time had passed. He turned at the sound of her approach. Neither had been sure what was appropriate in the circumstances so Threepio had opted to sleep in a spare room. It took a moment to be certain this was her; gone were the elaborate headdresses and gowns by which he knew her. She looked softer somehow. She was different in the mornings, he deduced, before she donned her severe senator's self.

"Mistress Padmé," he greeted brightly. "Good morning."

"Morning, Threepio," she smiled at him and made her way closer. "What's all this?"

"My daily exercises," he explained. When she came to a halt next to him to inspect the holos more closely, he assumed she wanted to know more. "I prefer to study a broad spectrum. Of course, certain fields are of greater relevance to our work. Those pertaining to engineering, computing, and such. We've long-since been immersed in those. Then, of course, the principles of astrodynamics and-"

"You can figure this out?" she was staring at the second holo, eyes glazing over with wonder or horror, he couldn't quite tell. Written in blue light across half her sitting room was a partial differential equation that likely appeared to her as gibberish. As it did to him.

Threepio hung his head in something close to shame.

"No."

She turned her face to him, her inquisitive expression still in place. She said nothing. She was waiting for him to elaborate, it seemed.

"Our processors... brain," he corrected. The word didn't sound foreign to him anymore but at times it was still difficult to say. "Has a set capacity which I cannot exceed."

There were tests to determine their exact intelligence quotient but frankly, Threepio didn't want to know. The hardest thing to consider was that this was not the work of other droids he was trying to decipher but of humans. He could not even match them.

"I've failed to solve eighty-eight problems thus far. This will likely be the eighty-ninth. I'm programmed for protocol and etiquette, I suspect because I'm of little use for anything else. Oftentimes, Master Anakin is forced to rely on Artoo for the most basic calculations."

Saying that name now brought a peculiar yet familiar twinge to his stomach. _Little twirp._

"Internally, I'm as capable as any droid. And yet out here, where it truly counts... I will never be all I should be."

It was atrociously rude but he simply couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Not until he opted to focus on the positives.

"But that's not to say I can't try," he asserted cheerfully. "I may not increase the limit of our cognitive functions but it seems I _can_ keep them at optimum speed. Which I do believe gives Master Anakin an edge. I've yet to meet another Jedi who can match his skill in combat, much less in the cockpit."

Mistress Padmé made a most unattractive noise before her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She proceeded to shudder as her cheeks turned an alarming shade of pink.

_Oh, dear..._

"Have I said something wrong?"

"No, not at all," she struggled to speak but then quickly composed herself. "How about some breakfast?"

"Oh, of course!"

Just _look_ at him blathering on when there was work to do!

Threepio followed her lead to the kitchen and watched her reach for the cabinets, seemingly intent on preparing the meal herself.

"Allow me, my lady," he pulled out a stool for her. She seemed a little thrown but then accepted. "Might I suggest Iktotch toast? We reinvented the dish ourselves to save on visits to Dex's Diner. Our version is quite good if I do say so myself. We may have to substitute a few ingredients but I noticed you have fresh shuura which should work nicely."

"That sounds wonderful," she smiled and might have wanted to continue speaking but the excitement was getting the better of him. Words spilled forth while he gathered the various utensils he'd need.

"I do think you'll like it. If not, I can always prepare something else. It's no trouble at all. I've mastered eighteen different breakfast dishes. Of course, I never get to make them. In the Temple, padawans must serve themselves so I can only cook for the machine. And they rarely allow it as they claim I lack _taste,_" he almost scoffed as he began cutting into the fruit. "As if that should matter! I may not enjoy the food itself but the process is enthralling. Oh, I can't tell you how refreshing this is. It's been so long since I had a mistress to serve-"

_She's NOT your mistress._

The words thundered through his head casing... Skull. It didn't manifest in an entirely distinct voice but he knew the thought was not his own. He knew because it was accompanied by an unwarranted swell of rage. Oh, it was repugnant! It hurt. He could _feel_ he was made of tissue when the chemicals burned through him like acid. Of all the emotional malware he'd suffered, anger was the most uncomfortable. He tightened his jaw and fought to breathe. Looking down, he saw the blade he'd been using had moved. It had sliced through the thumb, down to the bone. He saw...

Blood.

The sight hollowed him.

Time slowed almost to a halt.

He observed as if from a great distance a pair of hands. They didn't match and one was injured. When he wanted the hand holding the knife to put it down, it did, and that's when he knew they were connected to him but no, they couldn't possibly be his. Only people had blood inside them. He had nothing inside, just metal parts and wires holding them together. He was tidy and neat and never made messes like this. He was good. This couldn't possibly be his doing. This wasn't real.

The vessel stood frozen and he thought he felt the presence of Master Anakin holding him in place. He _was_ Anakin. No, he was... Confused. The details dropped out of his head; the where and how he came to be here and the names of the feelings stewing in his chest. It took a moment to remember _his_ name. He was C-3PO, human-cyborg relations.

"You don't have to serve me," the senator was speaking - how much time had passed? - and she was displeased. He could read the signs of her displeasure. Then her features morphed into a mask, pragmatic and poised. "But I _do_ appreciate your help. It's nice having someone around who enjoys cooking. I admit I'm out of practice. I don't get much time for it."

Her words barely registered but he was programmed to respond.

"Happy to help," he said. "I'm afraid this fruit is no longer sanitary. I'm terribly sorry."

She looked perplexed for just an instant before she looked down.

"Oh!" she shot up from her seat and made a mad dash around the island, grabbing a dishcloth.

As she drew near, his instinct was to back away.

"I didn't mean to be wasteful."

There was a quite the pool of blood now and it did nothing to help his disorientation. It was spilling over the edge of the countertop in long, horrid streaks toward the floor. Oh, it was such a mess... It could very well stain. She'd be so terribly angry with him.

"Don't be silly," she took his hand and wrapped the cloth around it, applying pressure to the wound. "Don't worry about that."

Threepio was quite sure he'd never been described as _silly_ before. Then again, he'd never had someone else attend to his injuries before. What in blazes was she doing? It was not proper! Though... it was rather nice. If this was silliness, he supposed he didn't mind it. Perhaps this was why Master Anakin had made such an exception for her. She was undoubtedly the most gracious mist- person they'd known. Much nicer than that odious Gardulla.

"Thank you, my lady."


	5. The Mother

_THE INSIDE_

This was the one place on the inside that still looked like it used to. Anakin remembered trying to stay here forever, in the little white house he shared with his mother and the near-complete droid he built out of scrap.

Back then, they'd known nothing beyond these walls. They had the couch and the cooler and the rug and that was about it but he had his own room which was the biggest deal ever at the time. They never saw daylight or night. The windows and doors were constantly barred to keep out the sand. Around these walls, the storm had swirled. On and on forever. They'd had a single holoprojector in the center of an otherwise bare table. It was still there now. Anakin couldn't count the hours he'd spent by his mother's side, watching whatever mindnumbing drama she was into. Other times, she held him as he wept while on the holo, Threepio (no more sophisticated than a cleaning droid back then) took another beating in his place.

He brushed aside those memories and tightened the final screw on the shelves he promised to install months ago.

Where before there was nothing but white, there were now bright flashes of color. The windows were open and lined with ever-blossoms; plants they'd seen on the outside that she'd somehow crossbred into beautiful works of imagination. Their flowers never died. And all around him, their colors clashed with artworks and books and an ungodly number of throw cushions. The very stones of the house were buried under the evidence of whatever pastime she currently indulged. A range of abstract canvas paintings covered one side and upon the opposite wall, an impressive display of knives.

Utter abhorrence of violence notwithstanding, it hadn't taken Shmi long to grow so bored with pottery that she switched to bladesmithing. It was more involved, she said.

Out of curiosity - or even just out of the sense that he _had_ to - he tested the locks on the display case. Yep, still locked. He busied himself with switching out old power packs in the smoke detectors because that was just as much fun anyway. He watched his hands work, still rather amazed to see the one on the right was still organic here.

Not that he'd have any limbs left at this rate...

He almost knocked over a vase and fumbled to catch it (he couldn't buy a replacement of something she made) and oh so carefully put it back, pushing down on his anger.

As much as Threepio could grate his nerves, Anakin loved him and was grateful to him. He could handle when he was outside and said something "wrong" and his throat got constricted but he couldn't abide Threepio getting hurt. Not anymore. His mother reminded him it would only escalate if he got involved so here he was fixing up her modest little home while she was out dealing with Mr. Oh-look-at-me-I-live-in-a-castle.

_Like we all couldn't live in castles if we wanted to? Get over yourself._

It would take a while for her to get back seeing as how she refused to travel by any other means than on foot. The city was much too small for her liking, she'd made that abundantly clear. In a day, she could walk from one shore to another twice and not tire. She even nagged him to extend the city limits, thinking he was in charge of such things! Worse, was when she went swimming in the lake toward the misty cliffs and valleys on the horizon where no one was sure what was out there and he was never sure she'd come back.

He'd finished just about every odd job he could find in such a small house so he dropped down onto the couch. He tried - and failed rather inelegantly - to activate the projector with his foot and had to give up eventually and operate it by hand. The frequency was already set to the outside. The holo burst into life and in the light, he saw her. Padmé. His heart skipped. Even through the static and with her brown eyes presented as blue, she was breathtaking. Whatever she was talking about, she spoke with passion, as always. He sat back to admire her through an image that was slightly more distorted than usual. The amount of information that came through the holos was never consistent. Right now, he couldn't hear what they were saying or be sure what time of day it was for them but he knew who Threepio was with. And damn it, he was jealous.

The longer he watched, the more he felt himself unground. He felt more in touch with the projection than his surroundings and he knew if he stayed like this, he'd step into the images entirely. Then he'd look around and find himself in her apartment. Or wherever it was they were. Reluctantly, he turned the projection off. The closer Anakin moved to the outside, the more likely his urges would seep through to Threepio and then Padmé wouldn't understand why her impassive new friend was lovingly tucking her hair behind her ear. In fact, Threepio might not understand it, either.

It was just as well because Shmi returned a few minutes later.

He stood up to greet her and they hugged and she tried to fix his hair and he asked how it went. (Her mission. Not the hair. The hair could never be fixed.)

"You know how he gets," was all she had the energy to divulge right now.

They headed through to the kitchen - which just meant taking two extra steps past the living room - and she insisted she could make a pot of caf herself.

"Sit," his mother ordered with an accent entirely distinct from his own. "You should rest your feet."

"It's not my feet that hurt, it's my neck."

It was the one thing he didn't like about coming back here. The low ceilings hadn't posed such a problem when he was the size of a Toydarian but now he couldn't stand at his full height at any spot in the house. He was lucky most of his job involved crouching beside faulty outlets or crawling beneath sinks to stop a leak.

"That's your fault for being so freakishly tall."

He laughed and they chatted and sat down over spiced zoochberry cakes she'd baked the day before that he wished existed outside. Though, he didn't mention that. Eventually, she announced she had a gift for him.

A wedding present.

"Which I would've gotten to you sooner if I'd had any time to prepare," she added pointedly, calling from the other room. The other room being a recent extension on the house: a workshop he'd built for her, complete with a forge and kiln and tools for all manner of crafts.

He tried to soothe her vexation over the precise way he got married but it really did nothing to dissuade her from her "right" to complain.

"I wasn't even invited to the ceremony."

"You were there! You couldn't _not_ be there..."

"That's not the point," she came back balancing a long, thin object in both hands, concealed by a cloth, and laid it gently on the table before him.

She watched him expectantly so he took his cue. He pulled the cloth away to reveal a sword shimmering in the light and his hand instinctively reached out to touch it.

"Careful!" she made him jump. "It's very sharp."

He scowled and turned his attention back to the blade. Lifting it, it had no balance. He felt that instantly. But that could be expected with a sword made entirely of glass. He held it up and watched the light refract off its surface, off the intricate patterns carved into the flat. His eyes followed those patterns down into the waves of blue crashing through its center. The blade was otherwise clear. It was easily the most unique - and useless - weapon he'd ever seen. If this sword ever saw battle, it wouldn't last long. It was intended to be ornamental. Purely ceremonial. And yet its sharpness left it no less capable of causing damage. He ran a cautious finger along the edge. A throat on the receiving end of this would slice open with ease. It was undoubtedly beautiful yet definitely odd. Not so much because it was a weapon made of glass but the fact it was a weapon at all. Shmi was a pacifist beyond reasoning.

"It's... interesting. Not what I would've expected."

"It represents love," she explained. "Its nature. Both fierce and fragile. It can be your strength to see you through but it still needs to be cared for and cherished. You must never grow careless with it. It can cut you or worse, it can slip through your fingers and shatter on the ground below."

He looked over at her. Where in a shared mind she garnered more wisdom than him, he didn't know. It didn't matter.

"I love it, thank you," he said sincerely. "I love it so much I'm not even going to point out the innuendo."

"Oh, you're disgusting!"

Anakin sniggered while she turned her face away. It was a joke but they still had to hurriedly move on from it, busying themselves with chatter and caf. If the realities of sharing a body had been uncomfortable _before_ he got married, it didn't bear thinking about now.

Anakin waited till the moment had well and truly passed before bringing up what he came here to ask.

"You should meet her," he broached the subject. "Properly. It would be good if you two got to know each other."

Shmi wouldn't even meet his gaze. The silence stretched on and on between them. She was intent on brushing the crumbs on her plate into a neat pile and ignoring his request forever, it seemed.

"Anakin, you know how I feel about that."

It wasn't Padmé she was talking about and he did know. Better than he should, perhaps. He didn't know if it was the Force or because they were family or just part of the way they lived but each time after Shmi went outside, the emotional residue lingered for days. His skin would feel like wearing a suit made from someone he loved and he dreaded to think he sensed only shades of what she experienced.

He'd met other women like her, down in the lower levels of Coruscant in specialized clubs, women who lived inside the bodies of men. Even now, he could feel that old excitement. He thought he'd found other machines. Turned out it wasn't as complicated as all that. They were whole. Their minds were intact, it was their bodies that let them down and they couldn't afford the change. A plight rarely suffered on the higher levels.

He'd encouraged her, all the same, to speak with them in the hopes it would give her a sense of comradery or offer some insight on ways to cope since clearly, he was useless on that front. It didn't help. Those women weren't thieves, she said. Oh, how he tired of that. He fought with her through entire cycles of day and night against the concept of ownership but she would not be moved. She viewed the body as _his_, as strongly as she perceived him to be her son.

He didn't have the energy to lose that fight again now.

"I know, but... she's part of this family now. We do whatever we have to for family, right?"

Shmi glared at having her own words used against her. Anakin put on his innocent smile.

"And besides, maybe it'll be easier with someone who knows about us. If you don't have to pretend at all. Or maybe..." he tried to offer new solutions but she shut him up with that look. Her Disapproving Mother look.

"I'm supposed to take care of you, remember?"

"You did. You _do_ and you've done an incredible job. Look where we are! I'm almost a Knight after all that sh...shenanigans. Nearly getting myself kicked out. And I found someone I love more than... in a way that doesn't have to benefit me and I'm not afraid of it. I've committed to something that isn't just about me. I never could've done that without you."

She reached out across the table to take his hand. The look of pride in her eyes was one thing he lived for. It offered a welcome change to what he saw outside, making him feel he'd done something right.

"Maybe it's time you get to focus on you."

She would pretend she didn't hear that last part. He just knew it.

"I'm so proud of you for taking this chance, Ani."

Honestly, he almost laughed.

"You don't want to yell at me for being reckless?"

Everyone else seemed to.

"Oh, you are reckless," she smiled. "But you know I never liked those absurd Jedi vows. And there's only ever been one other girl who caught your eye. I'm glad you haven't let this one slip away."

"What other girl?"

"The one who came into Watto's shop. The shieldmaiden. Or, no, what was it?"

"Mom, that's the same girl."

Shmi pulled back an inch and blinked.

"It is?" her tone made no secret of her surprise.

"Yes," Anakin laughed. "How did you not know that?"

"Well, you hadn't mentioned her in so long!" he could practically see the cogs turning in her head, bringing past and present together. "I thought you were staying away from her?"

"I was but then I got assigned. That's not important. Will you please come and meet her? Soon? She wants to meet you and it means a lot to me."

She pursed her lips, still hesitant despite the fact they both knew she wouldn't deny him this.

"Alright," she said at last.

Anakin stood and pulled her up to hug her. He thanked her. They held the embrace for awhile - his joints straining the whole time from having to lean over so far - until they went back to their seats and to the business of ignoring the truth.


	6. Circumstances

**Trigger warning:** mild sexual content in the fourth/final section. Look out for the words "promise" and "birthday" to skip over it.

* * *

After almost a month of one-on-one meetings, Padmé was now on the cusp of a meaningful result.

The most prominent members of the antislavery committee were gathered together in her office. Weeks of painstaking coordination to find this window in their combined schedules culminated in this one forty-minute meeting. And they were drawing to a close. If she failed to persuade them now, there'd be no second chance. They were here to determine if the committee would take on authorship of the Clone Trooper Personhood Bill and present it to the Senate.

It was all something of a farce anyway. It would still be Padmé doing the bulk of the legwork. They all knew that.

A chorus of eleven delegates encircled her desk; the loudest voices for equality in the galaxy. Some, she'd admired for years. Others were less pleasant to work with. For the most part, she'd swayed them to her cause. All but one.

Bail Organa of Alderaan sat directly opposite her. Dressed proudly in the lilacs and blues of his royal house. Even seated, he held himself with dignity and poise. Every bit the accomplished man. Viceroy, Senator, friend. She wasn't sure in which capacity he was speaking now but it certainly wasn't as her friend.

"I still feel you're overlooking more pressing concerns," he repeated a sentiment from two weeks back. "We don't have the resources to fight every battle at once."

Padmé had always appreciated Bail for the mirror he presented to her own views. It seemed they were always after the same thing but in reverse ways. At every turn, they challenged the other's approach and pulled their goals into perspective. It was part of why they worked so well together, even sought each other out. All the same, this stung. It was on _her_ reference he'd gained entry to this committee in the first place.

"We'll be laughed out of the Senate, besides. Vouching for people who aren't..." here he searched for the delicate way to phrase it. "Authentic."

Padmé bristled but knew how to hide it.

"The circumstances of how and why a person exists don't negate their status as _real_ -" she said what he meant "- nor their autonomy. The clones are sentient. Which places them among the millions of beings whose freedoms this committee serves to promote. It's not our place to judge who's worthy of our efforts and who isn't."

"But prioritizing our efforts is crucial," Bail countered. "There are those in the Outer Rim still suffering atrocities, you yourself brought that forward. The longer the war goes on, the worse and more widespread it will become. Countless lives will be spared thanks to these soldiers. To jeopardize that for the sake of one's own conscience would be selfish."

Selfish. _She_ was the one being selfish?

"Freedom - practical, legal freedom - isn't built on good intentions alone," he went on. "We can't save everyone at once. As much as we wish we could. And should the Republic fall, there'll be a great many more in need of liberating."

"Granting civil liberties to the clone troopers would mean the fall of the Republic?" Padmé challenged. "Are those not the very principles on which the Republic is built?"

Bail paused, apparently thoughtful. He was by no means an extremist nor a ruthless man. Use of clone soldiers would never sit entirely right with him, Padmé knew that. But he would see the war ended quickly for the right price.

"It's a noble cause, I agree. And yet, it could cost us the war and lead to further suffering. Sometimes there are necessary evils."

Padmé could sense some of the others drifting back to their original stance on the matter. Bail's words were chipping away at the resolve she'd instilled in them. She would _not_ lose this argument now.

"Then perhaps you should put your faith in the Republic if not the clones themselves. The very thing they are fighting to preserve. What cause would it give them to abandon us, being granted full citizenship, being granted a _choice_ in the matter? This Republic is only worth defending if it treats its people with dignity. If we fail to uphold that now, the very thing we're fighting for is already lost."

It was apparently enough to silence Bail for the moment and the chairman took the opportunity to take a vote. A show of hands - all the effort it took to raise one hand - indicated that she'd gotten her point across. The chairman approved the motion and it was done. With no need for further encouragement, everyone gathered themselves to leave.

Padmé knew she hadn't yet accomplished much, of course. And the meeting ended so abruptly, it was as though nothing remarkable had happened. She almost didn't take in what she'd just achieved.

* * *

After her noble colleagues had left, Padmé wasted no time submitting a request to the Security Council on their behalf. She needed the files on the clone troopers in order to complete the bill. Alone, in her limited capacity as Senator of Naboo, she'd likely be denied. After all, what business was it of hers, such military matters? The added clout would, in theory, better her chances of gaining access and speed up the process to boot. Then there'd come the challenge of actually presenting the bill to the Senate... But Padmé knew better than to overwhelm herself thinking about that just yet.

"My lady," a handmaiden caught her attention. "Padawan Skywalker is here to see you."

Padmé had to hold back too wide a smile.

"Thank you, Dormé. Send him in."

Within moments, a handsome young Jedi entered the room. As the door closed behind him, shutting out the rest of the office where her staff worked, he maintained the formalities.

"Senator," he bowed his head then waited quietly for her response.

Padmé studied him. She'd be damned if she got it wrong this time. It was unlikely to be Shmi. Since, judging by the occasions they'd met, she could only handle being out here for twenty minutes or so at a time. She noted the way he held himself, not exactly rigid but not entirely relaxed... But then that could just be his Jedi stance; he was technically on duty right now since his leave was over. She had to decide. She'd been staring long enough it could be considered rude. Anakin would've smirked by now...

"Threepio?" she ventured.

"Hello, my lady."

Padmé smiled, proud to have got it right. They were always forgiving but it struck her as something important. She _should_ be able to tell them apart. Or least, tell Anakin apart.

"Guess what."

"I never guess. I make calculated assumptions based on-"

"The committee accepted," she blurted out, excitement winning out over patience.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Well done, my lady."

Threepio took a seat across from her and graciously endured her ramblings about the next step in the process. He would chime in with encouragement whenever she stopped to take a breath. The self-restraint that kept her ambitions in check fell away in his presence. She knew she shouldn't get ahead of herself but... Well, it was nice! Being openly obsessive because here was someone who understood. And as she went on, his aura was so steady. Supportive simply by being. As if he truly was made of metal. In these moments, he said as much with his silence as with his endless chatter.

"Master Anakin sends his congratulations," he informed her once he got the chance.

"You can hear him now?"

It was always hit-and-miss. And she was beginning to notice it was even more challenging for Threepio than Anakin.

"Not in precise words. I sensed his proximity and there was a swell of pride," he explained. "He's receded now."

That got her wondering about something she hadn't yet seen.

Anakin was the one who'd been summoned but Threepio was currently out. Which meant, presumably, they were about to shift. A thrill of anticipation coursed through her. It was the one thing she was most intrigued by but knew not to push. She could see why they might feel vulnerable. She certainly didn't relish the thought of being watched getting changed, for one example. But the longer she went without witnessing it, the more mythical the idea became.

Surely, they would shift now? If they could control it. Which she knew they couldn't always but-

"Can you use a lightsaber?" suddenly Padmé _needed_ to know. She'd been warned not to bring up such topics with Shmi but it only just occurred to her now to ask Threepio. "What would happen if you shifted in battle?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, my lady," he deflected which went against his usual blunt style. "Granted, there have been inopportune moments to shift but generally, it occurs to serve a purpose. I'm sure it won't cause any problems."

Padmé banished the image of Threepio, in her husband's body, engulfed by blaster fire. She told herself to believe that couldn't happen. This thing, this arrangement of theirs, had to be meant to help, not leave them helpless.

From the start, Anakin had said she could ask him anything. And yet... Well, the conversation had been driven entirely by her fascination and she could tell when he grew uncomfortable. She didn't think she could make Threepio uncomfortable if she tried. It seemed to be his nature to remain unaffected. And it did nothing to quell her curiosity. In fact, it brought up all new questions. Things she felt she could only ask Threepio. Things she was almost afraid to ask.

"Threepio," she decided to take the plunge. "Is Anakin..."

_Don't say "the real one."_

"Has he always been there? Before you, I mean?"

"Master Anakin is my maker," but then Threepio seemed to second guess himself. Again, unusual. "Or rather, I perceive him as such. So of course, he existed before I did."

"And the others?"

Threepio regarded her with a look so devoid of feeling that she might have thought he'd zoned out and not heard the question. But usually, that look meant he was reading her. Gauging her reaction. Constructing his response.

"Master Anakin is among the oldest extant parts in the machine."

His reluctance left her more intrigued - and frankly, worried - than before. Sure, he was near impossible to read but she could swear he was holding something back. But there was no time to press the issue further before Dormé announced the arrival of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"There you are, Anakin," the Jedi Knight ended an apparently lengthy search. "I suppose I should've expected to find you here and not the training room where I told you to be."

"You know I'm just trying to keep you alert, Master," Anakin's charm filled the room.

Whoa. Did they just...? Did she miss it?

"Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan addressed her and derailed her train of thought.

"Obi-Wan," she greeted him with a deliberate tone and a soft smile. "It's good to see you again."

"And you, Padmé," he smiled. "I owe you my thanks for keeping my wayward apprentice here out of mischief."

"I'd hardly call it mischief if it gets results," Anakin countered.

"If the desired result is to foil an underlevel drug trade - by accident - you may have a point."

"Master, we are in the presence of a dignitary. Such topics are not appropriate."

Obi-Wan shifted his knowing gaze back to her.

"He kept the conversation civilized while I was away, then?"

"Painfully so," Padmé smirked. "He barely went into detail about your stint in that Corellian gambling house."

The Jedi conveyed an impressive amount of disapproval in a single glare. Anakin played innocent.

"I never said a word about it."

"Well, speaking of thrilling excursions, we've a briefing to get to in the Chancellor's office."

Anakin, not needing to be told twice for once, rose from his seat. As they prepared to head out, Padmé held back a snigger. She could just picture them standing before the Chancellor and his insipid entourage, running through every minute detail of their mandate.

"Have fun," she wished them off and relished the chance to be openly snarky.

"Oh, we wouldn't dream of leaving you out, Senator. The Loyalist Committee has been called to this meeting, as well."

Typical.

Padmé sighed. One of these days, she might try _leaving_ a committee or two.

* * *

The office of Chancellor Palpatine was plain and unassuming, much like the man himself.

"Thank you all for coming," he addressed the room as if they hadn't all been summoned by the mere click of his fingers.

With senators on one side and Jedi on the other, the congregation was tense. Despite their loyalty to the Republic and willingness to serve, the distrust the Jedi harbored for politicians was an open secret. And so Padmé found herself on the opposing side from her husband. She was instead sitting with Bail Organa once again. This time as members of a committee Palpatine himself had founded before the onset of the war. They were tasked with promoting loyalty to the Republic and at least on this front, she and Bail were still perfect friends.

"Let's get straight to the point, shall we? Thanks to Senator Organa, we've established a dialogue with the King of Toydaria," the lights lowered as a map of the system came to life above the Chancellor's desk. "They remain neutral but as you can see, they hold a strategic position. And we can scarcely afford to lose any more hyperlanes. With the right approach, we may be able to secure a treaty."

The room burst into heated chatter with several voices vying to be heard.

"We can't trust the Toydarians!"

"Surely more can be done to retake Eriadu? We pulled back too soon."

"What about the intel on the new droid factories? We should be focusing on taking those out, not treating with cowards."

"Agreed! They want to stay neutral, leave them to Dooku."

Palpatine silenced it all with a wave.

These were the meetings Padmé always wished to attend, to be privy to this information first-hand and add her voice to the discussion, but right now she desperately wanted not to be here. She was acutely aware that all the people who forbade her marriage were standing _right there_. And despite wearing no evidence of the union, she couldn't shake the feeling that they could tell just by looking at her. By looking at Anakin. By the way she looked at him. It was the same sensation, though not quite so dreadful, as the times she placed her handmaidens in danger while she hid in plain sight.

The Chancellor was speaking in one of two ways he'd once taught her. The first to appease, to pander. And this one: to leave nothing to argument. "We will heed the advice of the Jedi on this matter."

All eyes turned to the Jedi and that was when she noticed something odd... Anakin was the only padawan in the room.

He stood by his master's side where he belonged, keeping quiet. Mace Windu, as leader of the Council, did most of the talking. And while most of the attention was on him, Padmé noticed Grandmaster Yoda sitting furthest from the center silently observing all that went on.

"Until more clone troopers can reach us, we believe our efforts are best spent securing new alliances to open up alternative routes."

The only response was a few disgruntled murmurings from among her peers. In her peripheral, she noted Anakin appeared as stoic as his fellow Jedi.

Padmé hadn't found a chance to confirm the shift and she was growing ever more suspicious that this was still Threepio. Anakin had never displayed such patience amid his superiors. He was always a touch too eager to argue a different course of action. The man standing there now held himself just a little too straight and listened too intently to be the padawan she knew. But if it was Threepio... Sweet Shiraya, his performance was good. She supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. He'd fooled her before, after all.

All of a sudden, she was back by the fireplace in Varykino and could hear the answer she'd given to his proposal.

_"We'd be living a lie. I couldn't do that. Could you, Anakin? Could you live like that?"_

Then just as quickly, she was back in the room, oblivious to what anyone just said and feeling like dirt. She had to make it up to him before he left. She had to.

"If this is indeed a diplomatic mission, shouldn't it be handled by... well, diplomats?"

"While we certainly hope it won't come to violence, our intelligence suggests an agent of Count Dooku has already infiltrated the system. As such, the task will be entrusted to Master Kenobi and his apprentice."

They went on discussing the dangers they planned to send her husband into and no one batted an eye at her because nobody knew they were cutting her with each word. Luckily, Bail chose that moment to voice his concern.

"Are we quite sure it's necessary to send padawans into the conflict? Surely, the clone troopers were commissioned so as not to risk the young and inexperienced?"

Oh, _that_ comment would've earned some backtalk for sure! This was Threepio. She knew it.

"My understanding is young Skywalker here proved a formidable asset in the Battle of Geonosis. Moreover," Palpatine looked over to Mace Windu with a supplicating expression. "Would you please enlighten those of us who are unfamiliar with the prophecy?"

The Jedi Master gave a brusque nod and turned his attention to the politicians in the room.

"An ancient prophecy foretells of one who will bring balance to the Force by destroying the Sith. It is believed by some that Padawan Skywalker is the Jedi it refers to."

"Indeed," Palpatine smiled. "Having discussed the matter at great length, we feel it's imperative for morale that the Chosen One be seen joining the fight. Which brings us to why you, yourselves are here. Following this recent failure to secure Eriadu, public relations is now a crucial concern."

_Propaganda,_ Padmé adjusted his words in her thoughts. Her stomach was already churning.

"It would be best, I think, if the Loyalist Committee spearheads such campaigns," he went on. "Seeing as it comprises some of the most faithful and well-regarded figures in the Republic. You'll be working alongside the new Acting Director of the HoloNet News."

Padmé made note of that but kept her questions to herself for now. She'd not known the HNN had changed hands.

"At such a crucial time, we cannot allow the people to lose faith in the Jedi."

* * *

How often had she done this now? Pacing and waiting. Knowing every square inch of her home through the soles of her feet. It was making it smaller, making the walls close in on her. When she'd first joined the Senate, she found these apartments outrageously large. Perhaps that was just her feelings of being swallowed whole? Padmé shook the memories from her head. She had _current_ concerns to deal with. Namely, where in hells was her husband? Had they caught him trying to slip away? Was he being reprimanded while she waited around uselessly? Gods forbid he do as he please before they send him into battle! It was insulting. They weren't doing anything wrong.

There came the chime of the turbolift and then a man appeared in her doorway. It was probably Anakin since his idea of saying _hello_ was to grab her and crush her lips against his own. It set something rolling low in her stomach. A whole new kind of desperation. Too impatient to pull away completely, she mumbled between kisses.

"What kept you?"

"I'm sorry, I was trying to jump."

Absently, she found the statement a little odd.

"Jump where?"

"Onto the balcony."

Padmé's lips stilled as Anakin carried on kissing her.

"...From where?"

"The ground."

She pulled back and fixed him with a bewildered glare.

"I got halfway!" he grinned, proud.

"This is why Jedi don't marry," Padmé deduced. "They cause too much anxiety."

"I was perfectly safe," he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Until tomorrow," Padmé's heart sank and her face must've fallen along with it. Anakin hooked his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head upward, meeting her eyes with a now-remorseful gaze.

"I'll only be gone for two weeks. Three at most. It's nothing I can't handle. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"I know you can handle it." Despite meaning it, her heart steadily began to pound. All the images that haunted her mind throughout the day came back with a vengeance. "But I still hate the idea of you getting hurt."

His cocky grin made an appearance.

"I'll be fine-"

"No, please. Don't do that. Don't brush it off as if nothing can faze you. I need you to hear what I'm saying." She took hold of his prosthetic hand and squeezed. "Anakin, the thought of something happening to you... I've never felt helpless like this before. I've lost people before and picturing that happening to you when I can't do _anything_ about it. I'd rather it was me."

Anakin's hands brushed softly across her cheeks as his forehead came to rest against hers. He offered soft, soothing whispers, _shush,_ over and over.

"It'll be alright," he promised in a steady voice and wrapped his arms around her once more. He pulled her close and planted kisses in her hair. "I have so much more to fight for now. I won't let you down. I promise."

At last, he kissed her lips. And she tugged at his robes to hold him closer. As if holding on so tight meant never having to let him go. But he broke away all the same. His kisses swept across her cheek and down her neck.

"I promise."

He sucked and bit into the flesh of her throat. She let out a shuddering gasp, her fingers coiling into his hair, and nuzzled into his warmth.

"Anakin," she spoke into his skin. "Please."

He found the fastenings of her gown. The same one she'd worn all day at the Senate. (She suddenly cursed herself for forgetting to change into something nicer for him, despite his obvious interest in having her undressed.) And somehow, as the weight of it fell to the floor, he stripped away the weight of her world along with it. She heard herself giggle as he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom. And yet the embarrassment she ought to feel never came.

Anakin was beautifully attentive. She'd never expected to find poetry in sex, not judging by the stories her handmaidens told. But they fit together without trying and all her fears melted away in the heat between them. She felt helpless and safe all at once. Trembling beneath the exquisite touch of his hands, one callused and warm, the other cold and clothed in soft leather.

He still wasn't confident, she could tell. So she moved with him to guide his efforts. And let out every wanton moan until he stopped thinking so much, until he finally let go. There was something primal then. Some unflinchingly masculine thing that called to her, swept her up, devoured her. It was then Padmé truly began to lose herself. Legs spreading wider of their accord. Crying out in surrender. Hot-blooded. Alive again.

She didn't know who said it first but at some point they were each pledging themselves to the other with the words, _I'm yours._

When he collapsed at the end, he tried to fall to one side so as not to crush her. It was much too warm, truth be told, but she still followed him. Head resting on his chest, she settled into the home she found his arms. Content; a feeling almost entirely foreign to her. She hadn't even noticed it was missing until he brought it back into her life.

Still sweating, she slipped the glove from his prosthetic (the metal was still relatively cool) and he obliged her unspoken wish, running his fingers down her spine and along the slowly fading lines on her back. She'd decided to keep the scars.

"My warrior queen," his eyes gleamed with adoration as he spoke and left her breathless.

Then reality came crashing back into the room. He was still leaving tomorrow. The image of him lying wounded or worse on the battlefield brought all her panic back to the surface, her chest growing tighter and tighter, her skin colder, and one particular realization seemed like the most important thing in the world:

"You never told me when your birthday is!"

Anakin answered her horror with laughter. "Well, no one ever told me."

What followed wasn't a lengthy explanation. She already knew most of it. On some systems, slave families were kept together. That wasn't the case on Tatooine. It was the jewel of the criminal empire; you would get only what you could take from someone else. Between orphanhood and slavery and then living by Jedi customs, Anakin had never gotten much. Not even his date of birth.

"Well... then you get to pick one."

"I really don't mind. It's such a bizarre concept to me."

Apparently, Anakin didn't realize who he married. Padmé pressed the issue with her least pretentious words - resisting all the while the urge to weaponize her intellect - and would not let it rest until at last, he surrendered.

"Fine, today!"

"You can't pick today."

"It's my birthday, I can do what I like."

"But I haven't gotten you a gift."

"Jedi can't have gifts. Besides, what more could I want than to lie here naked with my beautiful wife?" his voice trailed off into a murmur as he trailed kisses along her neck.

"You're so full of it," Padmé pretended not to melt beneath his lips.

For future reference, she committed this day to memory. _Five weeks and three days after our anniversary._ Next time, she'd get him a gift.

"Happy birthday, my love."

Once again, they kissed. She tried desperately to lose her mind to it like she had so often before. She didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to know the facts, not right now. Inside, she felt too heavy, too tight. All the love and lust and sorrow fused together under the pressure of his imminent departure. And on top of this, the grief for all the things she couldn't possibly learn about him in time. She prayed he knew - despite all the ways she'd never get to show it - how much she loved him.

"When I don't see you off tomorrow, it means... It means I can't bear to watch you leave."

Anakin stilled and studied her like something new and curious. He seemed to grasp what she was trying to do. With pain in his eyes, he reached out and cupped her cheek.

"When you wake up and I'm not here, it means I've done the leaving part and now I'm trying to get back to you."


End file.
